Five Ways to Say I Love You
by Leska
Summary: A post-tsl London wants to get married. This is crack, no seriously.


Five Ways to Say I Love You

week one

London Tipton, daughter of probably the richest man in the world, turned on the waterworks, and tears welled up in her almond shaped eyes. She sat on the sofa in the hotel lobby, pretending not to watch Moseby's every move; who, in return, tried to ignore her presence. Albeit, when she started sobbing quietly, his countenance faltered quickly.

He put down the pen he had used to fill out a guest-form for someone too rich to bother to himself, and walked over to her. She demonstratively looked the other way until he sighed and sat down next to her.

"What is it now, London?"

No reply, except for a sniff.

"Go ahead, tell me!"

"I wanna get married!"

"What? But… why? And… to whom?"

She gave him a 'duh' look, "Because everybody gets married these days! It's almost as if it was the new fashion—which is like absurd, because I set the fashion standards!" Another tear rolled down her so carefully made up cheek. Moseby had trouble making sense out of this.

"You want to get married, because… everybody else is getting married?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, fishing for a handkerchief in her purse, "I can't bare the thought of being left out! It's horrible! I'm missing out on something hip this very instant!"

"I'll pretend this is not complete nonsense and will ask you: who do you want to get married to?"

"I thought, maybe you could marry me?!" The tears now gone, she batted her eyes at him pleadingly. He had risen before her eyelashes started to flicker in an attempt to look sweet and seductive. Hands raised in front of his tie he yelled, "What? No!"

But when he saw the disappointment in her face, he sat down again, touching her arm in a failed attempt to make her feel better, "London, look. Marriage is a very serious issue, not just a fashion. You should be very sure about your feelings, if you want to marry someone and you should get married to someone who loves you just as much as you love him."

She nodded, understanding, but uncomprehending. He gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. And was sure he'd never hear of it again.

week two

"Why not?"

"Because," Marion Moseby looked across the counter into London's frowning face, "you can not blackmail someone into marrying you."

"Who says I was going to mail you anything? I give you money. Lots of it. All you have to do is say yes, and London's wealth will be yours! And if you don't, I'll make Daddy fire you." She hopped up and down, smiling and applauding herself.

"Why do you want to marry me in the first place?"

"Because I want to. And London gets what London wants."

"Well, the answer is no."

The smile was gone in a heartbeat. Instead, her eyes turned icy, "Fine," she hissed, "let's see what Daddy has to say to this!"

week three

Nobody had fired Moseby. But Mr Tipton had made it very clear that if his daughter wanted to get married, it was Moseby's job to help her find a suitable husband.

That was why on this particular day, the hotel manager stood aggravated on the side of the stage and pressed a numbered badge into another contestant's hand. Behind the curtains, only two more young, rich, dim witted airheads were waiting for the opportunity to become heirs of the Tipton wealth. This meant that twenty eight men had already been sorted out by London, who found something wrong with each and every one of them. Mr Moseby's smile had long turned into a phoney grimace.

When the last contestant stomped by him, murmuring about never being treated with such indignity, the phoney smile became a scary scowl. Ignoring the men and leaving it to someone else to show them to the door, preferably Esteban, Moseby stormed on stage. He stared at London, who was sitting in a upholstered chair right in front of him, polishing her nails.

When she saw his silhouette, she lifted her head to look up, a dismissive hand wave already flashing, a contemning sneer already on the lips. In time, she recognized who was standing before her and the gesture became a wave of hello, the sneer a pleased smile.

"Are we through, already?" she beamed.

"London, you just went through thirty perfectly eligible, young bachelors and you disapproved of every single one of them. Why?"

"Well, for example, number four had a crooked nose—what would our children look like? And number seventeen, he was ugly—I will not show in public with a ugly husband! And number six was stupid. And number twenty one—"

"Alright, alright. I get the picture. You don't want to marry any of them."

A radiant smile and an enthusiastic nod.

"Then who do you want to get married to?"

"You."

"Why?"

"Because you're neither ugly, nor stupid."

"Well, although that is absolutely correct, the answer is still no."

She stood, "Then I guess, you'll have to find thirty more illegitimate bachelors." and with this she clicked her high heels and waltzed off.

With a weak voice he called after her, "'Eligible'", but she chose not to hear him.

week four

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might be too old for you?"

London mimicked a face of strained thinking, then said somewhat satisfied, "No."

She was standing in front of the counter in the lobby, dangling a very, very expensive engagement ring in front of Moseby's nose. He refused to accept it.

"Anna Nicole Smith married an elder man." she added as an afterthought.

"Anna Nicole Smith was a poor, young woman who married a rich, old man to get wealthy and famous. I am an older man with no means, and you are an affluent, spoiled teenager."

London gasped, theatrically showing her hurt. Her hand fluttered to her heart, "Is this what you think of me?"

He was sorry to have said it at once. He raised a soothing hand to try to explain, but didn't get any further than "Look, London" before the latter interrupted him, voice shrilly: "I'm already a twen! Or did you miss my twenty first birthday?"

"And did you miss my fortieth?" he whispered loud enough for only her to hear.

"I don't care!" she stamped her pink, booted foot in a pout.

"Why?"

"Because!"

"The answer is no."

week six

After having been gone to Paris for two weeks, London Tipton rushed through the revolving entry door into the lobby and straight into Marion Moseby's surprised arms. He smiled weakly, patting her on the back, while she hugged him and declared, "Please, marry me, Moseby!"

"Although I dread another preposterous reasoning, I will ask once more: why do you want to marry me?"

She unburied her face from his jacket and beamed at him, "Because I love you, and I missed you, and I never wanna be without you!"

The hotel manager looked first at her, then at her many shopping bags she had thoughtlessly thrown on the floor to embrace him. For the first time he smiled back and said, "Then the answer is yes, London. I will marry you."

She couldn't clap her hands, because she was hugging him too tightly, but in his embrace she made a tiny jump, "Yay me!"

"Yay… us."

glittery end with pink frosting


End file.
